The Things They Don't Tell You, and Other New Year's Non-Resolutions

Hello again, my lovelies! I've been off ringing in the New Year by . . . well, not drinking champagne* nor making any resolutions of any sort whatsoever except for the one stating how much I resolutely miss champagne.

*NOTE TO PREGNANCY POLICE: Or any other intoxicants, for that matter. Sigh.

This whole lack-of-champagne-itis reminded me of one of the largest lies told to me in my "Can I really be a mom?" pre-pregnancy phase of interrogating my mom-type girlfriends. Friends (said in my best, homespun Sen. McCain voice), those so-called allies who tell you that glass of wine won't occasionally call your name, siren-like, during your pregnancy have had one too many hits off the unicorns-and-rainbows sippycup.

Having always admired the straightforward pregnancy & mommy posts from bloggers like you and you, I figured I'd start copying them noting the other Pregnancy Things They Don't Tell You, or Flat Lie About ("PTTDTYOFLA", anyone?) here as I run across them. This isn't meant with the intent of scaring anyone, of course, but if you're of the mind as I am of going into (estrogen) battle fully armed, read on.

In my whopping seventeen weeks of pregnancy - I'm clearly an expert by now - the biggest, lardiest PTTDTYOFLAs so far:

1) The Pregnancy Police - not only is the Pregnancy Police - hello, I know you're lurking out there, just waiting for me to make a mistake! - a very real group, dedicated to peppering you with unsolicited advice and judgment throughout the 40 weeks of pregnancy, in my experience the PP is largely comprised of men. As in, that gender that is by nature unable to actually bear a child. I'd heard rumor of the PP before, but had no idea it allowed Y-chromosome types into the club.

*Fun Related Project* - keeping a straight face as a male, card carrying member of the Pregnancy Police delivers an unprompted lecture on why natural childbirth at home is the only responsible choice and makes mothers more in-tune with their babies. I bear no judgment on the truth of the lecture, but . . . but . . . see above about the manly, non-child-bearing parts of the lecturer . . .

2) The Pregnancy "Glow" - if by "glow" they mean "acne of a intensity and nature not seen since sophomore year of high school", then yes, anticipate having a glow. This, ahem, glow, doesn't strike everyone, thankfully, but I wish I had researched some good organic, nasty-chemical-free, PP-approved options before The Teenage Face, Part II struck.

3) Retail Replacement - There is a retail high greater than or equal to the Handbag High, and it is known as nursery furniture. With this new high comes the slightly less delightful aspect of safety worries - back in my purse prime, I never worried whether Marc Jacobs carried suffocation risk (aside from the price tags) - but it's a fun one nonetheless.

Behold the blue-n-brown nursery inspirations with which I'm daydreamily working obsessively Googling for the baby boy - yes, boy - en route. Because, in the words of one of my bestest Invisible Internet Friends (with a private blog, otherwise I'd credit her here), "I'm down with fetal gender stereotyping":

(Credit: Restoration Hardware)

More from the trenches, just as soon as I finish eating. Again.